Questions to grab and strangle:
“Is my nailed foot committing a crime by not moving from its one spot?
Is my free foot sinning by doing that which the other one cannot?
How come one side of me seems ignorant sometimes, then the other side
at other times?
Do my sides actually take turns living in the dark, or do my eyes alternate being blind on the left, then on the right?”
One foot can obviously do more than the other one, but that foot is not necessarily the one you were born favoring. (Does anyone need reminding that we are not really talking feet here?) The foot police are always on duty, watching carefully for any signs of undue-relaxation, which can lead to the greater crime of untoward-realization.
Many theories abound concerning the purpose of man’s brain being divided into two hemispheres. It is so one side can accuse the other. In the early days of the Great Struggle, the neural warrior feels at the end of each day that he has put up the good resistance. He may still have been much overcome by the dull, mechanical forces of “Sleep – habits – whatever the hell they are,” but still he feels his efforts validated in that he at least remembered some times during the day to resist those automaticisms of life himself.
For some time, such a man deserves heroic stature, but not forever. Very quickly, (totally beyond the notice of most), this string runs out, and at sunset, he stands not as a bloodied but unbowed hero but rather as a dunce. Where be the profit in vacuous battles, and worse yet, the sense in attacking one of your own legs? Did you already forget about the two princes who jointly ruled a kingdom, and only what one of them did ever accomplished anything, and the other one never caught on?
You surely haven’t already ditched the memory of Hansel and Thoughtel?! No, no, ‘tis far too sad to return to their story, and see that blank look creep over your face again. No, we will just ignore all of this and press on.
J.